What I Learned in Gym
by Rebecca Hall

     When I was sixteen, I fell.  I was doing a back tuck on beam and landed with only one foot, on.  The other, missed, My entire body collapsed onto the foot that was dead-on the beam.  All of my weight.  My foot folded up at the ankle; my big toe hit my shin hard enough to leave a small gash in my leg from my toenail.  I'm not sure which was louder, the weight of my body hitting the beam or the sound of everything in my foot snapping. 

     It wasn't the first of my injuries, not by a long shot; there were many to follow, but this was the most painful.  The ligaments in my foot were torn; my Achilles' tendon was stretched; most of my leg muscles were pulled.  What went through my mind at that moment?  When I was clinging to the mat with my fingers, trying to get the pain to stop?  One thing: "Shit, how long will I be out this time?"

     I stopped doing gymnastics two years ago.  Since that day, when I stepped out, into the real world, all I've heard are negative opinions about the sport.  Even when I think back on my own 15 years of gymnastics, all I see are ten year olds being screamed at and  told they're fat.  I see a six year old being jerked by her shoulders and dragged out of the gym by her wrist.  I remember being left on the beam for two hours straight because I was terrified of one trick.  I remember telling my coach "My arm won't move when I tell it to," and him saying, "Stop faking and get back in line."  I was in a sling for 4 weeks after that.  I remember being rewarded for my rib cage and six pack in front of the entire gym.  Above all,I remember all the times I didn't win first place. I  seem to forget the time I won Nationals. Why does a child give her life to something like this?  Who would willingly commit herself to a life of pain, frustration, constant hard work, and-- worst of all--- the feeling of never being good enough?  Is there a way to do gymnastics--to learn it and to teach it--- without the abuse.  Without the cruelty? 

     I walk into Thompson's Gymnastics Center a few minutes before team practice.  Parents are sitting in the lobby in rows of seats, pointing to their children and talking quietly.  It's a big deal to be invited into someone else's gym.  Coaches tend to be territorial, for good reasons --and bad ones.  I'm led to a mat in the middle of the gym.  As I sit down, a cloud of chalk lifts up,then settles comfortably onto my skin.  I remember being five and covering myself with chalk, head to toe, and pretending I was a ghost.   The chalk smells dry and sweet and I drag my finger along the mat.  Gymnastics chalk is softer than you'd expect.  Like moist powder.

     The door from the lobby opens and a few girls spread out across the floor.  A wave of body spray, deodorant, and hair spray fills the air and mingles with the chalk.  The girls dressed in brightly colored leotards.  Some are wearing shiny metallic ones that seem to change colors as the girls move.  Others wear velvet leotards, decorated with sparkles and  plastic gems.  A couple of them have shorts on too, rolled down at the waist as many times as possible.  A few of the girls make eye contact with me and give confused smiles before looking away.  They discuss their school days as they begin stretching.  I fiddle with my notebook. I realize that I'll never again be part of a beginning-of-practice-routine.  One of the coaches walks over. 

     "Hi.  You must be Rebecca.  I'm Mel."  She turns to the group of girls that has quickly grown in size and volume; most of them not paying attention to their stretches.  Their hips fall to the side out of their splits; their chests slouch over their legs.  "Girls, we can start over."  They quiet down a little; they straighten their hips and lift their chins. 

     I'm ten years old.  My teammates and I are standing in the corner, laughing. 

     "Girls!"

     We jump away from each other. I get ready for my next pass, but I'm still laughing a little.  Our coach, Burnadett, walks over.  Her face is tight and her eyes seem to be looking right through me. 

     "This is ridiculous!"  She bends over in our faces and yells "When are you girls going to start working hard!"  We try to stop laughing.  No one answers.  "Well?!"

     I tap my foot on the ground a couple times and look like I'm thinking.  My teammates giggle again.  "Mmmm, tomorrow?"  I'm hoping she'll think I'm cute. 

     "If you start tomorrow you'll just be fatter!!"  She screams so shrilly that we jump this time.  "Go."

     We all start working.  Burnadette walks over to her husband.  "I think we should start weighing the girls, Brad," She laughs, "Maybe that would make them work harder."

     After stretching, the Thompson's team splits up.  I stay near the floor.  The higher-level group of girls start warming up their tumbling passes- long combinations of fast flips and twists.  One of the girls, Lindsey, lands a pass; immediately,she takes the pressure off one of her feet and hops away.  She puts her toes to the floor and rotates her ankle while she waits in line, periodically scrunching up her face and breathing-in through her teeth.  Before she goes for her next pass, she touches her toes to the ground, presses her ankle out to one side, straightens it back up, then lunges forward.  When she lands she shakes it out a little and decides to forget it. 

     I can tell by watching Lindsey's tumbling pass that she's planning to add a flip at the end: she's "warmed it up" with a powerful jump into the air instead of "landing it", standing still.  A few turns later, she stands in the corner of the floor; her body poised, ready to spring forward at any moment.  I can see it in her face.  The fear, the frustration.  Her eyes are wide and glazed, her whole face is tense except her lips, which are moving slightly as she silently talks herself into going for the pass.  That's  when I feel it. It's  like a hook, pulling me from the inside.  My body craves it.  I want nothing more than to be standing in that corner.  Or better, to be standing on the beam, talking myself into going.  But I sit still.  The movement, the excitement in me slowly subsides . I only feel heaviness.

     Lindsey starts her pass but she lands wrong; she doesn't have enough power to go for a last flip.  She  grabs her lower back and limps away.

     Marino, the trainer for the team is standing next to me, carefully watching the girls for any signs of injuries.  Having a trainer is a privilege many gyms don't even know exists.

     The girls start floor routines.  Their coach,Linda, yells encouragement through each routine.  "Come on Mariah!"

     I turn to Marino. "How many hours do they practice a week?"

     Marino squints an eye , then raises one side of his mouth, "Uhh, I'd say,like, ten hours a week.  Yeah, they do it right here.  These girls have a chance to have a social life.  The gyms that are practicing 30 hours a week are wiped out."

     The Devil went Down to Georgia comes on, loud.  "Come on Chelsea, tight here!"

     "Those teams that work their girls that much, they come to competitions and they have, like, five or six girls and maybe two of those are healthy.  And those are the lower levels.  Their level 9's and 10's are burnt out."

     I'm in the doctor's office.  The door opens and a bald man walks in.  "Hey there.  I'm Dr. Cathcart, you must be Rebecca."  He has a thick southern drawl.  I give half a smile and look down.  "So what's the problem?"

     "I hurt my back.  I was doing a flip at gymnastics and I landed on my face and my feet whipped over my body and touched the ground in front of my head.  And then whipped back.  That was two months ago."

     Dr. Cathcart puts his hand on my back, gets me to do some twisting and arching and asks me to describe the pain.  My mother is there to quickly correct me when I downplay the injury.  "Becca, you can't even sit up straight it hurts so bad." 

     "Alright Rebecca.  Here's what I think.  I think you've got a crack in one of your vertebrae. We're gonna do some x-rays and then I'll be able to tell you for sure."

     After the x-rays my mother and I wait for the doctor.

     "Becca, that's it.  If you have a broken back I'm taking you out of this sport."

     "Mommy.  It's not broken!  He just thinks it's a crack!  I'm fine."

     "Becca.  You're 14 and you have a broken back.  This is the type of stuff that's gonna stay with you for the rest of your life."

     "It's just a crack."  I clench my jaw and tighten my chest, refusing to cry.

     "Mommy, please."  I've given in and my body is heaving now.  "Please, Mommy.  I can't quit.  Please.  You can't make me."

     She sighs and shakes her head.  "What am I supposed to do?"  She bites her lip and I think her eyes are watering a little.  "It's child abuse if I let you keep doing this."

     I can barely talk I'm sobbing so hard.  "Please, please, please.  I can't live without it Mommy.  Wh- What would I do?"  I try and catch my breath a little.  My mom is staring at the wall.

     "Lets just wait and see what he says and then we can talk about it."

     We don't talk again until the doctor comes back to the room.  I've calmed down but when he comes in my eyes start watering again. 

     "Alright Rebecca," he puts an x-ray on the light and points to a spot, "there it is right there."  Tears roll down my cheeks.  "You see it in that one right there.  It looks kind of like a poodle right there.  That's the crack."  I bite my lip hard and try not to make noise as my body heaves.  "It's a pretty good sized one."  He looks at me and his face softens.  I put my face in my hands and sob loudly.  My mother asks calmly, "What does this mean for her gymnastics?"

     Lindsey's floor music comes on.  Instead of doing a different pass every time she does the one she'd been warming up.  She lands wrong each time without doing the last flip.  At the end of her routine, she grabs her back and bends over.

     "Lindsey," Linda yells, "If it's hurting your back, you shouldn't do it."   Courtney's music starts.  She shakes her shoulders back and forth very precisely.

     Lindsey stands up.  "Just one more."

     Linda laughs.  "You're so stubborn.  At least put some ice on it."

     Lindsey shakes her head and gets back to work. 

     A couple days later, I get to Thompson's half an hour before practice starts and sit outside with Mindy.  She's the oldest on the team, a level ten going to the University of Rhode Island next year for gymnastics.

     "I'm really amazed by your gym," I say.   "You guys get so few hours and there's such a positive attitude."

     Mindy shields her eyes from the sun.  "Yeah.  Most gyms go like five days a week for three or four hours at least.  But we're really laid back and it's good.  The only bad part is that we don't do a lot of conditioning and I think that hurts us.  A lot of the girls have back injuries and I think it's due to not being conditioned."

     Chelsea sits down beside Mindy.  "Oh I hate conditioning.  We do it at the beginning of practice and it messes me up."

     "Well, it's not fun Chelsea, but it's good."

     A car pulls up and a few more team girls jump out and join us.  Courtney walks out of the building holding her flat stomach.  "Jelly beans make you feel fat.  I feel fat."

     Mindy rolls her eyes a little and smiles, "Yeah, you are."  Courtney laughs and sits down. 

     "But you guys compete really well don't you."

     Mindy laughs.  "Yeah, I think we must have a lot of naturally talented girls.  Lots of us make it to Regionals.  For all the fun we have we do really well.  Maybe we do better with less because they're so laid back and cause they don't yell and treat us badly and call us fat or weigh us." 

     The other girls join in the conversation as they get dropped off.

     "Yeah.  You're mentally good here."

     "They don't pressure you if you can't do something.  They're just like 'Okay lets work through it.'"

     I'm fifteen.  I'm standing up on the beam.  My arms are straight up.  My body squeezed tightly.  I've been standing like this for at least five minutes, maybe ten.  If I look over my shoulder I'll see my coach, one arm up in the air, one down by her side, ready for me.  Every few seconds she encourages me.

     "Come on Beck." 

     My teammates chime in in between tricks. 

     "Come on Becca.  You've got this.  You know you've got this." 

     I fidget my feet, getting them lined up just perfectly on the beam, over and over again.  I raise up on my toes, spread my heels apart, snap them back together, and go flat footed again.  I focus my eyes on the beam, stand perfectly still, and try to force something, anything into my head.  My arms won't move. I drop them with a sigh and turn around.  My coach drops her arm down by her side and shakes it out a little.  "You know you can do this, Beck.  Just go once and the rest will be easier.  You know that."  My eyes start watering and I set my face in a frown and furrow my eyebrows.  "Don't get frustrated.  Take a walk."  By take a walk she means walk down the beam and come back and try again. 

     I put my hands on my hips and slowly walk down the beam while I look at the ceiling.  Anna notices me. 

     "Becca, what's your problem?  You bein' a chicken?,"  She drawls.  She's the only teammate that's figured out how my head works.  "Don't you wanna be a level 9?  You think level 9's are afraid of this kind of stuff." I get back to my starting point. 

     "Now I want you to go and prove to me that you've got it in you to be a level 9.  No more wasting time."  I put my arms up and take a deep breath.  My coach whispers, "Come on Becca, you got this."

     I fidget my feet, up on my toes, click my heels, back down.  I throw my arms down and flip backwards.  Arch, recoil, hands, feet, into the air, arch, recoil, and I'm done.  There's a thud on the beam as I land it perfectly.  I breathe out. 

     "Good Becca.  9 more." 

Mindy points to Courtney, "Yeah, and, like, Courtney, she went to the Berkshire Gym, first. When she got here, she just had this mental block."

     Courtney blushes a little and looks down.

     "Yeah, Courtney had serious mental problems."

     "Yeah and that's probably because whenever she got scared of something there and got a block she was sent to the lobby and yelled at."

     "They really build character,here.  There are life lessons that gymnastics helps with.  Self esteem, self-motivation.  We're well rounded."

     "You have a social life here."

     "And you learn how to not be shy." Lindsey runs her finger across the pavement while she talks.

     "Yeah, Mariah never talked when she first came here," Chelsea laughs, "Now she never stops." 

     Mariah giggles a little.

     I follow the group of girls to the beam and sit down, out of the way.  They spread out and start warming-up skills.  Liz jumps up on the beam and puts her arms up over her head.  She drops them down, shakes her arms then  puts them back up.  She fidgets her feet on the beam, rocking back and forth.  Arms back down.

     "Oh my gosh I'm so scared."  She squeezes her leg muscles with her finger tips.

     Thompson's has a meet tomorrow. Being afraid of something in your routine is an event worthy of panic.  The thought of standing up on the beam in middle of your routine while everyone waits is scarier than the trick itself.

     One of Liz's teammates encourages her, "Don't be.  Just go," and walks away.

     Liz walks halfway down the beam, quickly turns around, and comes back.  Arms back up.

     "Oh my God."  She shakes her arms.  "Oh my God.  Okay.  1,2,3."  She drops her arms, jumps off the beam, and walks quickly to a mat.  She puts her arms up and quietly talks to her coach who's far away, working with someone else. "Mel, I'm having an issue."  She does the flip on the floor and walks forward quickly to do it again.  "Oh my God, Mel.  I'm having an issue."  She quickly does it a few more times.  The trick is to get your body to do the skill without thinking about it.  That way, you bypass the mental block.

     "Oh God, Oh God."  No one seems to hear her.  She runs back to the beam and jumps up.  Arms up, "1,2,3" She throws her arms down, back up, and flips backwards.  She lands lightly on the beam.  "Phew."

     I laugh a little as I watch this.

     "Hey Rebecca."  Marino is standing across the gym with two small girls.  When I turn around, both girls hide their faces in their hands and giggle.  I walk over.

     "I told these girls what you were doing here and Taylor said, 'She's writing a story and it's not about me?"  Marino points to one of the girls as he says this.  Taylor is a skinny ten year old with lean muscles stretched across her arms and legs.  She has a big smile that she tries to cover with her lips when she remembers she has braces.  I turn to the smaller one beside her. 

     "And what's your name?"

     "Brett.  I'm nine."  Brett bounces and widens her eyes with every few words.  She's much shorter and her muscles are thicker.  Taylor is icing her arm and sits very still beside her only moving her chin and shoulders up and down when she talks.

     "I'm Taylor and I'm ten and I like lobster." 

     I laugh as I glance back over at beam where Mindy is attempting a new combination.  She lands her first flip and starts to go for the next but stops herself and stumbles back a little.  She walks down the beam, "Almost, ahhh".

     "So, why do you guys like gymnastics?"

     Taylor shrugs, "Because it's fun and I love it.  And it's fun."

     Brett bounces, "I wanna be able to do a giant." 

     An older teammate passes by and hears Brett, "You will."

     "Na-uh."

     "Yeah you will, stay in it and you'll see."

     Brett's eyes get wider.  "Na-uh."

     "So do you guys ever get scared of stuff."

     "Yeah Taylor's scared of her level four dismount."

     "I am not!"

     "Yeah you are.  You get scared everyday."

     "Not anymore."  Taylor crosses her arms over her stomach and stares at her feet. 

     "That's an okay thing to be afraid of," I say quickly, " It can be scary.  When I coached level four all the girls were afraid of it.  What does it feel like when you're afraid of it?"

     Taylor shrugs.  A couple of older girls have stopped for a moment and start helping.

     "Well, Taylor, what do you think about when you're scared?"

     She shakes her head.  "Nothing.  It's just blank."

     "So it's like a block?"

     "Like you just start going and then you stop?"

     "Yeah.  And I start to shake."

     Brett quickly sits up straight.  "I feel hungry sometimes."

     "Yeah.  Sometimes I just keep eating and eating when I'm scared, 'cause it feels like I have a stomachache."

     Marino walks over.  "You guys telling Rebecca why you do gymnastics?"

     Brett jumps up and tenses her arm muscles in front of her.

     "Because it makes me STRONGER!" 

     Taylor shrugs, "Because it's fun to learn new stuff."

     Brett plops back down.  "And cause you get a lot of friends."

     "It's exciting!"  Taylor smiles at herself then curls her lips down.

     The older teammates return.  "It feels good to accomplish something new."

      Taylor puts one finger up in the air, "Oh, and I like to try new things on floor.  It's fun cause when you fall on your stomach it doesn't hurt."

     "I think the scariest is beam."  Brett hugs her legs tightly as she says it.

     The older girls start their own conversation in a circle around Taylor and Brett.

     "It's like my second home here cause I can just come here when I have problems and just do gymnastics.  At school you're not happy when you accomplish stuff."

     "It helps with school work.  If you can do something here then you know you can write an essay."

     Taylor is staring at the floor with her arms crossed.  She nods slightly, without blinking.  "It's fun to have hard work."

     Brett bounces up and points to herself.  "I come every night," she leans over close to me.  "It's the most sportiest sport."

     Courtney stands at the end of the runway. She's at the start of her second event of the competition.  She raises one arm to the judge and puts one foot out in front of her, takes a deep breath and charges down the runway.  At the end of her vault she opens up out of the flip too soon and lands on her back on the mat.  Her coach jumps forward to make sure she's okay.  Courtney gets up slowly, salutes to the judge and walks back down the runway for her second vault.  Her coach walks with her, one of his arms on her shoulder asking her questions and telling her corrections while using his other hand to demonstrate.  Courtney nods slowly.  Her eyes are wide and each breath is deep.  Her coach leaves her halfway down the runway and walks back to the vault.  Courtney looks at the ground as she walks the rest of the way, clearly trying to process her last vault.  When she gets to the end of the runway, she salutes to the judge again and speeds toward the vault.  She lands this one on her feet with a small jump forward.  As she walks back to her seat, her body is moving up and down with each large breath.  She puts one hand on her stomach,smiles a little, and shakes her head.

     I watch the other teams at the competition.  One girl lands her vault short and falls forward.  Her coach jumps away from the mat, throws one fist through the air, and grunts loudly.  The gymnast stands up on one leg, biting her lip, salutes to the judge and squats back down on the mat holding her ankle.  The coach steps forward, puts one hand on her shoulder, mumbles something, and motions towards the seats beside the vault.  The gymnast limps away and sits down. 

     On bars, is a group of tiny girls dressed in dark purple leotards.  None are older than eight; the youngest looks like she's barely six.  Their muscular stomachs poke out, nice and round.  They haven't learned the gymnast trick of always holding in your stomach.  They don't know it's expected of them.   During warm-up, their coach spots them heavily on their dismounts.  When they compete their coach steps off the mat and the girls are on their own.

     The first girl dismounts then falls backwards, off a bar three times her height.  Her coach picks her up after she salutes to the judge;she tries to cheer up the little girl, who just holds her head and cries.  The mother comes to the edge of the roped-off competition area; the tiny girl is passed from coach to mother and carried out.  The next girl goes and does the same thing.  Once again the gymnast is picked up by her coach, who laughs in attempt to make her smile, while the girl cries.  The girl's mother comes to the ropes.  The coach puts her down and the girl talks to her mother across the rope.  The mother holds the little girl against her chest and kisses her daughter's cheeks.

     As the teams rotate events, Thompson's comes to the  bars.  Throughout warm-up, Courtney kept chickening out of one of her skills.  By the end of warm-up, she still hadn't done it.

     She fidgets her feet while she waits her turn and tightens her grips and ponytail.  Before she salutes to the judge, her coach asks her a question.  Courtney nods her head "I'm gonna do it," and salutes to the judge.  When she gets to the skill in her routine, she flies over the bar smoothly without hesitation.  Her team and all the Thompson's parents in the crowd erupt into cheers.  "Whoo, alright Court!"  At the end of her routine she's greeted with high fives and hugs.  She smiles widely with big eyes, blushes a little, and takes off her grips.

     At the end of the competition, I watch the awards ceremony.  Most of the Thomspon's girls have made all-around scores high enough to place well and go on to Nationals.  After the individual awards, the team places are called-out, starting with Fourth and moving up to First.  After Second Place is announced, Thompson's still hasn't been called-up. The girls give each other looks of surprise. They scream in delight. They must be First.

     They're right. Thompson's going to Nationals.